Gingerbread
by abstractwords
Summary: Eliot can't get rid of the nightmares that started since his latest encounter with Moreau. He decides to take a few days away to try to calm his temper and ends up stumbling upon a museum in need of his help. When Parker sees the state of the apartment he left behind, she decides that she and the team must follow to help their friend.
1. Chapter 1 - Nightmares

Eliot was sprawled across his bed on his back, his wrinkly sheets and black bedspread bunched into the bottom edges, and his right foot tangled into one corner. The window was open, letting in a cool breeze and making his body shiver in his restless sleep.

At the same time, the nightmares were making him sweat.

His long hair was clinging to his neck and face, and even in his sleep, his hands came up and covered his ears, trying to muffle the sounds inside his head. His body tensed and he let out a scream and curled his body. He clenched his fingers into fists and clung to the hair around his ears.

In his head, the scenes were shifting rapidly, each one making him tense harder. _Gunshots were echoing in his ears and blood was staining his hands, splattered off the crates in the warehouse. In the centre, instead of an enraged Eliot sliding through, guns in hands as he dodged every bullet, Moreau stood at the edge of a pool and let out a laugh as he lifted his foot and shoved Hardison's chair into the water._

Fresh beads of sweat formed on Eliot's forehead.

 _"I can make you do it all again you know," Moreau cackled at him._

The scene shifted and Eliot's body relaxed slightly. _There was fresh air now, and he was surrounded by his team. Parker sat on a bench staring up at him. "What did you do?" she asked._

 _"Don't ask me that, Parker. Because if you ask me, I'm gonna tell ya, so please, don't ask me that."_

His body tensed again and the sweat pooled into his eyes before dripping down his face.

 _This time there was a gingerbread house, and a girl with a silly grin shoving the tray at him. He gave her an icy glare and shoved it back at her, trying to put an end to the over-the-top Christmas cheer._

 _The blond leaned in and sniffed._

 _"What are you doing?" he asked, nostrils flared._

 _"Your breath smells like gingerbread," Parker grinned._

 _Eliot looked at the table. The gingerbread house now had a hole in its roof. Dried icing and red candy stains betrayed his fingers."Wha—shut up, Parker."_

 _She leaned in and sniffed again. Eliot swatted her away. At the same moment, a gunshot rang out and thousands of gingerbread pieces shattered and splattered around him. The grin was gone from Parker's face, replaced by glassy, terrified eyes as the crumbled house covered her eyelashes and blond hair._

Eliot, sweaty and shivering bolted straight upwards in bed and let out another scream. The kind of scream you might expect from someone who was ready to punch something. Anything. Realizing he had woken in his own bed, he froze, his light blue eyes focusing in on the shadows, breathing deeply, trying to regain control. He scanned the darkness, watching for movement. When he decided that everything was still, he opened his bottom lip and let out a sigh. He buried his head into his knees for a moment and ruffled his hair, trying to release the sticky locks from his neck.

He had once told Sophie that he only slept 90 minutes a day. Lately, 90 minutes was generous. 3am had found him again. He climbed out of bed and stumbled over to the window. He stuck his head out into the fresh air. He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed in deeply. When he opened them, he looked down at the city lights and watched a handful of cars drive by. He tried to use the hum of their engines to ground him, but his breathing remained heavy.

The images from his nightmares – from his past - were still running through his head. Images that made his blood tingle. Without even being aware of it, his hands curled into fists so hard that his fingernails broke through the skin on his palms. He slammed the window shut and ripped off his wet shirt and threw it in the laundry basket. He found his way to the living room and dug through a drawer until he found tape for his knuckles. He wrapped them carelessly before he turned and started throwing punches at his punching bag.

The more he punched, the more he tried to forget the images of his nightmares, and forget the memories that had created the nightmares in the first place. He threw his fists at the bag as it swung, looping in every direction, forcing him to readjust his feet before he became off-balance. He tried his best to punch the images out of his head, even for a moment. But nothing in his mind disappeared. It never could. He remembered it all. Every face, every name, even the eye colour of every person that waltzed through his memories. He didn't deserve it any other way. He knew that.

But the nightmares had never been this bad before. Not even when his jobs for Moreau were so fresh he could still smell the blood beneath his fingernails. He took a few last desperate punches at the bag and then sank to the floor, defeated.

He ripped at the tape on his wrists and unravelled it. It was bloodied now from the cuts on his knuckles. He left the tape tangled in a pile on the floor in front of his punching bag and went to hit the shower.

He let the cold water run over him for thirty minutes. He looked down at his knuckles, clean, now that the water had rinsed away his blood. He reached out and turned the taps off. He rubbed the water off his face and scrubbed his eyes with the bottom of his palms. The nightmares were beginning to clear a space in his head, and he started to think about his team.

Nate knew about the warehouse, and swore he would never tell. He trusted Nate with that. But none of them knew what he had done for Moreau. He doubted any of them could even imagine it. Still, it bothered him that they each knew there was something he had done that was so bad he didn't even want to talk about it.

"What did you do?" Parker had asked him. He hadn't wanted to snap back at her, but he had buried it all as deep as he possibly could. Deep in a shallow grave, if his mind tonight had anything to say about it. But deep enough to hope that he would never have to tell them, especially Parker. They all knew he was dangerous. It was why he was part of the team. His dangerous nature was what kept his friends safe. But his worst and deepest secrets would never even cross the mind of someone like Parker. The stealthy little thief that walked around at Christmastime with a goofy grin on her face. The girl who somehow still managed to exude innocence when she was hanging millions of dollars worth of stolen jewellery on her Christmas tree.

Eliot finally emerged from his room dressed for the day just as dawn was breaking. He glanced at the counter in the kitchen. The gingerbread house still sat there, and it gave him pause for a moment. The house that, even after shoving it back at Parker, had appeared on his counter just hours later. The house that now had a giant whole in the roof where he had decided to try just a taste. Somehow Parker knew. Whether she had smelled it on his breath like she said, or had come by again to see it partly eaten, he wasn't sure.

He stood there at the entrance to his kitchen and looked at the house. The gingerbread walls, the red, white and green candies that adorned it, dripping with white icing that he knew Parker had also used to top her cereal with the day she had made it. Somehow, seeing the gingerbread house sitting there was beginning to calm him. He almost recognized the tingle in his blood begin to slow. He thought of Parker and her smile when she tried to shove the house at him. He thought of Hardison, tinkering on his computer. Sophie, switching accents as she went from person to person at a cocktail party. And Nate, the mastermind of it all, the reason that they had all began working together. He thought of all these people who had somehow become his friends. He didn't deserve them.

And he didn't want to be calm today.

He wanted to throw punches, he wanted his blood to boil, and he wanted to make someone pay. He clenched his fists and snarled, trying now to control his anger again. He raised his arms and swept them across his counter, pushing the gingerbread house so hard that it smashed against the far wall. He stood for a moment, breathing deeply and picturing Parker's face. He closed his eyes and let out a groan, covering his face with his hands. Regret flooded his head. What would the blond thief do now if she saw her work smashed to bits on the floor? Not just because he had lost his temper, but because he had lost his grip with the man that he was trying so hard to be.

He took out his phone and texted Nate.

"I need a couple days away."

A couple days to clear his head, try to control the anger that his nightmares gave him. Maybe if he found some way to do that, he could come back and keep the team safe, and try to do more good to help balance the scales. Try to face his friends again. He couldn't be that person right now. His head wasn't in the game. It wasn't even on the field.

He didn't wait for a reply. He grabbed his jacket, his passport, and his wallet, and he left the apartment, slamming the door behind him.


	2. Chapter 2 - Off the Grid

Eliot got on the first flight that he could get out of Boston when he arrived at the airport. He had tried to ignore the frequent vibrations from his phone, but he finally reached into his pocket and turned it off without bothering to check his messages.

Now, he wedged himself into the seat by the window just over the wing and pulled his shade halfway down. His hood hid his face from the woman that sat beside him, but after he caught her glancing at his torn up knuckles, he pulled his sleeves down over his hands and crossed his arms.

"Nervous flyer?" the woman asked, staring at Eliot's jittery leg.

Eliot glanced over briefly and shook his head. "No," he growled, ensuring the woman didn't talk to him again.

He turned back and stared out the window as they headed down the runway and lifted into the air. The change in pressure didn't affect him like it used to; the torn up feeling in his stomach, and the grogginess in his head were something else entirely. He wanted to sleep. The exhaustion was overwhelming him, but he refused to close his eyes. It was one thing to wake up from his nightmares in the safety of his own bed, it was something else entirely to wake up screaming on a flight full of strangers.

About half an hour into the flight, the flight attendant came by with the drink and snack cart. Eliot realized that he had not eaten anything since early in the day yesterday and his stomach started to grumble. He regretted not packing a sandwich of his own making for the trip. Flight food was terrible. But the thought of food now made him think of his kitchen. And the thought of his kitchen made him think of the gingerbread house that lay scattered on his floor. He shook his head at the attendant and went back to staring out the window. He'd have to take care of his hunger once he got to wherever it was he decided that he was going.

His flight took him just over two hours. The first flight out had put him on a plane to Pearson Airport in Toronto. Luckily, he got through the airport quickly, having no luggage to contend with.

Outside, the air was crisper than back home, and he pulled his jacket tightly around him.

He went to the first taxi he saw sitting at the curb waiting for a passenger. "Luggage?" asked the driver.

Eliot shook his head. "I travel light," he said, getting in the back seat.

"Where to?" the driver asked as he climbed behind the wheel.

Eliot pondered this for a moment. He didn't really have a preference and shrugged before saying, "head east. I don't really have a place in mind."

Back in Boston, the team had been informed of the message that Eliot had sent to Nate's phone.

"So wait, he's just gone?" Parker asked. "We're going to follow him right?"

Nate shook his head. "He asked for a couple of days Parker. He'll be back in his own time." Nate had the Moreau job on his mind and had a feeling he knew why Eliot needed to stay away for awhile. He wasn't keen on letting his team push the hitter into returning too soon. Eliot had put on a good front after the San Lorenzo job was wrapped up, but Nate knew better. He had almost been waiting for the disappearing act.

Parker found the whole thing absurd and unacceptable. After the meeting broke off, she headed to Eliot's apartment. She ignored all possibility of the front door and climbed up the side of the building instead. She opened and slid into his bedroom window easily, manoeuvring with the stealth of a cat as she swung her legs in, clung to the top of the window with her toes, and then let her torso and arms follow until she could place her hands flat on the floor. She let her legs fall gracefully down and turned the handstand into a crouch. Slowly, she pulled the window closed behind her. Before straightening up, she looked around at the scene.

The sheets were still tangled at the edge of his bed, and the bedspread was abandoned in a heap on the floor. Parker knew that this was not the way the hitter normally kept his room. If he had been thinking clearly before he left, everything would be clean and straightened up, leaving no traces that anything was out of the ordinary.

In the hall, she slid open the drawer where she knew he kept his passports. It was empty. "Dammit Eliot, where are you?" she whispered.

The living room air held a chill. Parker wasn't sure if it was from the cool breeze that had slipped in when she came in his window, or if her body was reacting to the scene before her. She looked at the heap of bloodied bandages balled up under his punching bag. They made her wince. Eliot was rough and tumble, but he was also usually very clean. It wasn't like him to leave anything bloody or dirty lying around.

The glance into his kitchen hit her even harder. The remains of her gingerbread house were scattered all over the floor. Her heart sank a little at the sight. She had made the house just for him. Carefully placing every bit of icing and candy, thinking about how the sight might bring a smile to his blue eyes, if not to the curl of his lips. He may not show his jolly side – well – ever, but she had hoped that the gingerbread house would awaken some part of him that had buried a childish happiness, if only for a fleeting moment. She thought her mission was complete when she smelled the gingerbread on his breath in Nate's apartment. She hadn't expected him to taste it. It wasn't exactly 'good food'. So her comment had made him more annoyed than he should have been that day. He didn't want her to know that he had given in to her holiday treat.

Now, there it was, smashed up all over his floor. Parker tiptoed into the kitchen and stooped down beside it. Rationally, she knew it wasn't the house alone that had made him angry enough to take off without warning, but here, stooping among the crumbs with candy bits sticking to her shoes, it sure felt like he had run off because of her. It felt like he deliberately left the crumbled cookie all over the floor for her to find. She could almost hear him growling at her that he didn't want it. That he didn't need her, or want her, to give him anything at all. She wiped her eyes quickly, even though there was no one there to see how glassy they had become.

"Well, if you're going to be like that Eliot, I'm going to be like this," she said as she took out her phone. She texted Hardison. _Find out where Eliot went. Check all his alias's if you have to. I'm going after him._

Eliot sat slouched with his arms crossed. By the time they were forty minutes into the drive, the driver had given up trying to make small talk. Still, he didn't want to drive all day with this man in his backseat. "How long you planning on driving?" the man asked.

Eliot was groggy and his head was wobbling against the window. His limbs were beginning to feel like jelly. If he stayed in the cab much longer, his eyes were bound to close. He rubbed them, trying to focus. "Here is as good a spot as any," he said, sitting up straighter in his seat. "Head north until we hit wilderness."

The driver nodded again and got off the highway at the next exit. He picked a road that took him north, away from the bustle of the city still buzzing with sounds of Christmas.

Eliot lobbed his head against the seat, watching out the window. The houses started to spread farther apart, and more trees were towering overhead,. Here, they were more sprinkled with snow than ten minutes before, away from the warmth of far too many engines and city lights.

The driver made a few turns here and there, and Eliot could feel the agitation from the front seat when he still said nothing about leaving the cab behind. "I'm gonna have ta' let you out sooner rather than later, Son. I need to be getting back."

Eliot inhaled hard and pulled himself out of the trance he had fallen into. He focused out the window. The drive had taken them to a neighbourhood embedded in the middle of a forest. He knew the highway wasn't far, but the thick trees provided him with comfort. He nodded. "Sure, anywhere here is fine." He could still see houses between, but this was a space he could lose himself in without worry he was going to hurt anyone.

"Tell you what, there is a little museum not too far from here. Think you might like it. It's bustling today getting ready to ring in the new year."

Eliot frowned. "I'm not really up for a crowd."

"Trust me, Son. This is the place for you. You could use some cheering up."

Eliot nodded, not too keen on the idea of lingering people staring at expensive artwork. The thought of fluorescent lights and sparkling dresses was not what he had in mind. Well, at least he could ditch the building and head for the trees once the driver let him out.

The driver pulled over. Eliot looked around. "What, here?" he asked, staring through a gate at an old red building. To the far right, there was a bubbling creek going underneath a bridge.

The driver nodded. "It's a little pioneer village. I get the idea you want to be off the grid for awhile. You'll fit right in here."

Eliot stared out his window as he dug out some cash to give to the driver. He made sure to include a huge tip for the man's trouble. He handed over the bills absentmindedly. The driver watched Eliot as he got out. He could almost feel a weight being lifted off of the man's shoulders, and he knew he had made the right decision dropping him here.

As Eliot got out of the car, he saw a pair of horses pulling a carriage just inside the gates. A group of families was anxiously waiting for their turn to go on the carriage ride. He started to walk in, but was stopped by an older woman in a long red paisley patterned dress and festive bonnet on her head. "Excuse me Sir," she said in a thick Welsh accent. "Free admission today but I'm sure you wouldn't mind contributing a small donation. Lots of goodies to try. Well worth it."

Eliot dug out a few bills and placed them in the basket she held out.

"Splendid. Enjoy the treats, Dear."

Before Eliot could even enter the gate, a young boy in a grey suit and newsboy cap ran up to him and took him by the hand.

"Come on Mister," the young boy said. The village is up the hill, but I'd wait for a ride. It's so much fun. One of the horses pooped on the road when I was in the carriage. I bet the other one will soon too."

This made Eliot smile. The boy handed him a map of the village and scampered off to a fire pit near the creek where a group was gathered and laughing merrily. He watched the boy tip the brim up his hat and adjust his britches before taking a cup of hot chocolate from a tray a young woman was offering.

Eliot smiled. This place would do just fine.


	3. Chapter 3 - Stop Poking Me

_**Sorry that this chapter has taken so long. I kept writing and rewriting until I was happy with it. Thanks to everyone for reading, and to all those who have reviewed. I hope you enjoy Eliot's first day at the pioneer village. Let me know what you think.**_ _(I don't own Leverage or the characters, but I am enjoying writing about them)_

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Eliot lingered at the gate and watched the bustle of activity. The group by the fire pit was growing in number as treats were passed around, carollers were making their way down the hill singing _Silent Night_ , and the line for the next ride on the horse and carriage was growing slowly with excited families. Eliot joined the line.

The covered wagon that the horses were pulling was just big enough to carry a few families around the village for a short ride. The pair of horses had shiny brown coats, and were each covered in a red cloth lined with green trim to look festive for the season. As Eliot watched the horses turn around, entranced by their beauty and graceful step along the dirt and gravel path, he was pulled from his gaze by the sudden sting on his knuckles. His reflexes kicked in and he whipped his hand closer to his side and tensed the muscles in his legs and arms. He snapped his head around to see who was looking for a fight.

His eyes shifted back and forth, but had to look down to find the culprit. A little girl with blond braids hanging out of her red wool hat was holding her mother's hand and staring up at him. An extended hand and index finger gave her away. Her curiosity turned to shock when she saw the sternness of Eliot's brow. "What are ya doing poking me?" he gruffed, wondering to himself what made any blond that happened to be around him want to poke at his injuries.

She inhaled quickly and stepped back. Eliot's features softened and the girl found her courage again. "Does it hurt?" she whispered.

Eliot looked down at his knuckles. He frowned at the scratches and the scabs that were beginning to form. "'Course it does," he told her.

She nodded. "Oh, sorry Mister."

"S'okay, Sweetheart'," he said. He made to turn away.

"What happened?" asked the girl, not ready to give up the conversation yet. She reached out a finger, meaning to poke his knuckles again. He pulled his hand away and stooped beside her instead.

"Just an accident," he told her. "But I think it's healing up okay."

"Is that the worst cut you've ever gotten?" she asked. He brown eyes were two big circles.

Eliot twitched his eye. He thought back to the time he was strapped to a table in a warehouse in Myanmar. He was covered in sweat and blood, the latter pouring from his right bicep where a sniper had shot him. A man stood beside him, cutting up the back of his ear, threatening to take it clean off.

He shook the memory off, and looked at the girl's curious eyes. Then he nodded his head. "I think it just might be," he told the girl.

She nodded, her mouth serious and wise. "I have band aids," she said. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a scrunched up band-aid with a _Bubble Guppies_ motif.

"Uh-" he paused, trying to figure out what to say. "Why don't you keep that one," he told her.

She shook her head and peeled the back off. "No," she said abruptly. She grabbed his hand and slapped the band-aid onto his knuckles. Most of the sticky part was on top of the cuts, and he tried not to flinch at her kindness.

She nodded, satisfied with her doctoring skills. Then she smiled at him. "There. You should cover your cuts up you know." Then she looked over Eliot's shoulder. The horses had come to a stop and families were starting to load. "Mommy, I don't think we're going to get on this one," she said. She frowned as she watched the carriage fill up until there was only a small space on the end.

Eliot turned back to her. "Tell you what, Sweetheart. You and your Mom take this one, I'll catch the next," he said.

The girl smiled and looked at her mother. "Can we?" she asked, her eyes bright and excited.

"If it's really okay with-"

"Eliot," he said to them.

"Thanks Mister," she said starting to pull her mother along.

Eliot held out a hand to stop her. "What's your name?"

"Zoe," the girl replied. "And that's my Mom. She's Charlotte."

He nodded to Charlotte and then looked back at Zoe. "You can hop on ahead of me under one condition," he said, grabbing the zipper of her coat and shaking it playfully. "Don't go poking at people's injuries."

She nodded.

Eliot cracked a smile and winked at her. "Don't go givin' your Mom a hard time today okay, Zoe," he said before lending a hand to help her onto the carriage.

When everyone was loaded, he walked up front to the horses. He stroked a hand on the first one's nose. The driver nodded to him that he was about to move. Eliot stepped aside and let the horses pass. He watched Zoe wave frantically to him as the horses pulled them away. Eliot smile and waved back.

.

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Eliot followed the horses up the hill and into the main part of the village. He walked by a small Victorian house outlined by a white picket fence, a white chapel where the carollers were now singing, and a hotel painted in a bright yellow that stood tall from the 1850s. All were crowded with guests trying to get in. At the far end of the village was a log house and a log barn that looked older than any of the other buildings. Smoke rose from the chimney of the log house, and he could hear banging and clanging from the inside, and cheers and laughter seeping through the cracks in the log house door.

He considered going in, but instead wandered past, looking for a quieter spot to roam. The old log barn that stood beside the house was locked up tight for the day. It was tempting, but he decided on the trail that the horses followed, heading down the path towards a foot bridge overlooking a creek.

As he walked, the cedar trees overhead scattered wisps of snow as the wind blew. He dusted off his coat, and adjusted his hat, flattening his long hair over his neck. At the bottom of the hill, instead of looping to the left where the horse trail went, he veered right and onto the foot bridge. He felt an even colder wind here, now that he was staring down at the creek. The water was still mostly flowing, but chunks of ice were lapping against rocks on either side. Just past the bridge, the forest was thick on either side of a trail that went up a steep hill. He heard a few laughing children as several families appeared from the trees and headed by him and up into the village.

As they disappeared again, the sounds of nature returned to him. He closed his eyes, and leaned his arms on the rail of the bridge. His exhaustion was returning. He could feel his eyes start to spiral, and his head felt groggy and light. At the same time, his stomach started to growl at him. He regretted not going into the log house now. He was sure there was something cooking to make everyone cheer in such merriment. But what he really wanted was sleep, even if it meant risking the nightmares.

He took a few deep breaths and headed back up the path to where the log barn stood. It was the only locked, empty building as far as he could tell. Perfect for resting his bones and settling his mind as best as he could manage. It was off to the side enough that he was sure he could find a way in without anyone seeing. Before he could make a move, the door to the log house burst open and a crowd came pouring out.

"There he is, there he is," he heard, recognizing the small voice. Eliot looked and saw the little girl from the carriage rushing towards him. He looked behind to see if anyone else was there, but by the time he turned back around, the girl had scampered right up to him.

"We had the best time on the carriage. Did you go? Then we went in there and celebrated the new year," she said, pointing the log house. "Twice. Happy Hogmanay." She said it all in one breath with a big smile on her face. "Where have you been?"

Eliot smiled, "Well Sweetheart, I wandered down to the creek to watch the water. Now, I'm kinda looking for a place to rest," he whispered soft enough that her Mom didn't hear. He had said it all through his tired eyes, but Zoe took no notice of that.

Instead, she scrunched up her face. "That's no fun. Come on," she said pulling his hand, and once again managing to scrape his knuckles, this time by accident.

"Wait Zoe," her Mom said pulling her hand away. "You can't just drag someone along like that."

"But all he has seen is the boring water. He needs to go there," she said pointing to the little Victorian house on the other side of the path. "They have the best treats."

The girl's mother looked at Eliot apologetically. "Sorry," she said. "Come on Zoe, let's get going."

Zoe folded her arms and looked at Eliot. "Well?" she said. She furrowed her brow at him in such a way that made him suspect that she was imitating the look that he had first given her. He couldn't help but laugh and give her a nod.

Zoe took her mother's hand again and led the way, making sure that Eliot was following them to the Victorian house. She slipped through the gate and wove her way through a few lingering guests and headed straight for the kitchen door. "We need a handful of cookies," she said in a serious tone to the woman n a mop cap and cooking over the wood stove.

"A handful of cookies?" the woman asked. "How about two, for you and your Mom?" the woman said about to reach into the oven for the tray.

"No, we need a handful. He needs some too," she said with a shrug as she pointed at Eliot who was now waiting just outside the gate. Zoe looked over at him and rolled her eyes. She walked over, grabbed his hand, and pulled him to the kitchen door.

Eliot smiled at the baker.

"First time here" she asked him.

Eliot nodded. "Long way from home."

"Nonsense," the woman said, noting the dark rings under his eyes. "You're never far from home when you are here." The woman conceded to give the girl a small handful of cookies and a few napkins. Zoe looked at Eliot happily. "See cookies," she said handing Eliot a napkin. "These ones are the best."

Eliot smiled, "Thank you Sweetheart." Eliot opened the napkin and saw two small gingerbread people sitting in his hand. The smile disappeared from his face as he thought back to his kitchen floor in Boston, but he faked a fresh smile and looked back at Zoe. "They looked delicious."

Zoe let a smile spread across her face and grabbed hold of her Mom's hand. "Come on, we have to go to the General Store to see Santa. You're coming too right?" she asked, looking at Eliot.

"I-uh-I've got to pop away for awhile," Eliot told Zoe.

Zoe pouted at him. "But...Santa!"

Zoe's Mom pulled her aside. "Come on Zoe, Eliot has somewhere to be. Maybe we'll see him later."

Zoe looked at Eliot. He nodded and winked. Reluctantly, Zoe let her Mom pull her away.

With Zoe and her Mom gone, Eliot took another look at the gingerbread people sitting in his hand. He clenched his jaw before folding his napkin around them and stuffing them into his pocket.

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The grey sky had opened up to let thick snowflakes begin to fall on the village. Eliot walked back over to the log barn. The doors was locked up tight, which was the entire appeal of the building at the moment. The front doors were too conspicuous, so he went to the back of the barn and located a second set of doors.

These ones were locked from the inside, but Eliot could see the hooks and the wooden bar going across the doors. He was sure there was no real lock on this one. He stuck his fingers into the gaps in the door and managed to lift the hooks off of their latches. The bar was slightly tougher to get to. He could reach it, barely, with his index and middle fingers. He lifted it up and over the wood holding it in place and then pushed it inwards, letting it fall with a clatter on the barn floor. He closed his eyes, listening for sounds that someone in the village might have heard the noise. When he was certain that they hadn't, he pulled the barn door open with a creek.

He slipped inside and pulled the door back in place. He carefully replaced the latches and the beam that held the pair of doors shut.

The barn was dark, but the logs weren't sealed tight, and light peaked through many of the cracks. Eliot climbed over the loom that was in front of him. On either side of the barn was a section of thick scattered straw. The straw was probably old, and dusty, and damp from the cold, but it was the most welcoming bed he could find. He climbed over and positioned himself behind a tall pile of straw. He fluffed up the straw underneath him and made a bed for himself. He lay down and let out a deep breath. He listened to the sounds of the village outside the barn as he let himself drift off to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4 - A Night in the Barn

Eliot woke up scratching his wrist. He felt the prickly bits of straw stuck in the sleeves of his jacket and pulled them out, bit by bit. His eyes fluttered open. It was dark. Not dark like his apartment, with streetlights seeping in, allowing him to see the shadows bouncing on the walls, but dark-dark. He remembered the barn, and the drive to the forest, and the museum. It was comforting in those first few moments to realize that he was surrounded on the outside by trees and old empty buildings. He heard tiny footsteps outside at the back of the barn, crunching lightly through snow and twigs. A fox, he knew. They were very distinctive footsteps. A few crickets chirped, and there was a faint rustling of cedar trees in a gentle wind. But other than that, he was alone.

Eliot shifted and ruffled his hair to let the straw fall out. He felt around and found his hat and pulled it back over his ears. The temperature had dropped since he had fallen asleep, and he couldn't help but shiver. He pulled his jacket closer to his chest and tucked his hands underneath his armpits. He knew his cheeks were red and he could feel his toes tingling.

And he was hungry.

He considered getting out of his nest and trying to scrounge for scraps from the log house beside the barn. With no one around, the creek of the barn door wouldn't be a problem, and with the basic knowledge of lock picking that he had gained from Parker, he was sure the log house was easy enough to open.

He also he knew that at night, it was not likely that any food would be left inside the log house. Not in an old museum building where mice and squirrels took every opportunity to nibble at crumbs left by visitors. The rodents had no problem making themselves right at home on the kitchen table if there was a bit of oat cake left over. So rather than try to search for food, he stayed in his cozy bed of straw and considered the last twenty four hours that had led him here.

He couldn't help but wonder what the reaction was from the team when they found out he had taken off with no warning. Nate would certainly have told them by now. Hardison would be hurt, make a few sarcastic comments, and try to delve into World of Warcraft while downing a few orange sodas before scoffing and trying to track Eliot instead. Sophie would try to justify it, telling them all that Eliot needed time after recent events. Nate would roll a few eyes and shake it off, believing his hitter would be back, intact, and soon.

Parker...Parker was his real worry. She wouldn't have let it go so easily. She would have been the one to demand that Hardison search the grid to find him in whatever Hardison-way he could. His passport had been dinged, so it wouldn't be hard to track him to the airport where he landed. From there – well – it was Hardison, so he doubted it would take long.

His real worry wasn't the fact that his friends were tracking him, or that they might find him – it was on what Parker had been doing while Hardison was doing his computer thing.

Eliot knew she would have headed straight for his apartment. She would have climbed right in, helping herself to a window, and she would have seen everything that Eliot had left behind. He swallowed hard with guilt again, picturing the face she would have had when seeing his kitchen floor. She would have tried to hide her hurt, even alone in his apartment, but he knew it was there. He always knew when she was upset. He could read the slight change in the squint at the side of her eyes when something was bothering her. And her nose would twitch, just for a split second before she could hide it.

Here, alone in the barn, he questioned himself about why he was so worried about Parker's reaction. She annoyed him, more often than not. And she usually meant to do it. Until she stuck that stupid gingerbread house in front of him. That time it wasn't annoying that she was going for – that gesture had been something else. Something that he barely had time to ponder before everything went so wrong.

After the house had appeared in his apartment, he had wanted to confront her about it. Ask her what was going through her head. Ask her if something had ...changed. But everything had happened too quickly with Moreau. Parker had gone from giving him innocent, sometimes pestering, playful smiles, to giving him a look that, while it held the smallest hint of curiosity, was full of fear. He didn't ever want her to look at him like that again.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the napkin that the little girl had given him. He placed it on his chest and lifted one of the gingerbread cookies. He started twisting it in a circle, using his chest and his fingers to rotate it around. He wanted to go back to Parker. He wanted to tell her he was sorry for taking off. He wanted her to smile a playful smile at him and remind him that things were okay. But they didn't feel okay to him.

He pictured his actions in the warehouse again. And before the warehouse, the look of accusation of betrayal that Hardison had given him in the park – and again, the look that Parker had given him. That fearful look that bordered on utter dread. It was a cold look that said everything he needed to know. Parker was questioning whether or not she trusted him anymore. If he ever answered her question honestly, all she would ever look at him with was fear. He didn't want to shatter that trust he had built. His job was to take care of them, to protect them, to protect her. If she knew the truth...how could she ever look at him with anything _but_ fear.

Her playful pokes would end, she wouldn't try to sit near him on the couch again. Would she even look him in the eye anymore if she knew about – everything? The lives he took, how he had taken them, and the way he continued on afterwards; the way he was before he found his way to this team.

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. If her innocent laugh ever disappeared because of him, he wouldn't be able to live with it. As much as he wanted to go home...

This was better. Here, in the barn, alone. He knew the nightmares were coming again. His blood was boiling, and he was trying to calm himself down, but they always came when his mind was ragged with memories.

General Flores's words echoed in his head. _"These people you are with now...could you leave any of them behind, ever?"_ More guilt, because now, he had. Maybe not in the way that Flores meant, but he had still taken off without warning. It wasn't forever, but he couldn't go back with his mind like this. He refused to let his friends be around him when all he could picture was blood. Before he could go home, he had to find his way back to the Eliot that he wanted so desperately to be.

He stuffed the cookies back into his pocket and tucked his hands under his armpits again. He tried to push Parker's frightened face from his mind. He steadied his breathing, trying to slow it down. And then he tried his best to drift back to sleep.

.

.

.

"Try harder," Parker told Hardison.

"Doing everything I can Mama," he told her, hands and eyes on the laptop in front of him. The two were standing at a small round table at Pearson Airport in Toronto. Hardison's laptop was plugged in and he had connected to the security cameras. He was hacking the logs from the previous day, searching for Eliot's face.

Loads of families, businessmen and airport employees strolled by, and Parker scanned them all, impatient, hoping to catch sight of Eliot, but knowing he was long gone from the airport. She wondered if any of them had seen him. She sighed and put a hand on Hardison's shoulder. "If this computer doesn't find Eliot soon, I'm going to start lifting wallets, just for fun. I'm getting bored sitting here."

The laptop was speeding through its search, and they had only been sitting there for a few minutes. Hardison decided not to point that out, knowing that Parker was concerned for the hitter, and just impatient at not knowing where he had gone. He watched her sitting there. She was watching the people, yes, but she was mostly looking through them, not really taking in her surroundings. It wasn't like her, and while it would be very, _Parker_ , to start lifting things, Hardison knew that that was not really what was on her mind.

Parker looked back at the laptop. "There," she said pointing. Hardison had been distracted and didn't realize that the program had paused in its search. The security camera in question was positioned outside the airport overlooking the pickup area.

Hardison clicked a few buttons and the pair watched as Eliot approached a cab driver and got in. "License plate," Hardison said, pausing the video and zooming in to the back of the taxi.

"Got it," Parker told him. "Let's go."

Hardison packed up his laptop and the two went to search for the driver that Eliot had used to leave the airport.

.

.

.

Eliot's second sleep was interrupted by a dim light and the sound of a padlock. His body was tense from the cold, and he shivered as he awoke. In his grogginess, he pictured Nate's kitchen table with a pile of padlocks and a timer to see how fast they could get opened.

He lifted a cold hand up and wiped his eye. The padlock in question wriggled again and then snapped open.

"Parker?" he mumbled. He shifted around in the straw and opened his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5 - Busted

It took Eliot only a moment to realize that the padlock in question was not on Nate's kitchen table. He remembered the barn and his cozy bed of straw. As his mind focused, he heard two voices behind the barn door, and he scrambled to shift his body so that he was curled behind the pile of straw closest to the front wall, his back against the logs. The intruders would have to go all the way to the back of the barn in order to see him there.

Eliot had awakened from a deep sleep. Deeper than he remembered having in a long time. It was a sleep that his mind welcomed. A refuge away from the memories of the warehouse, and of his life before Leverage. If it were possible, his body had needed it even more. Now, images of the blood and guns and falling men that he had been trying to avoid, all started seeping back into the front of his mind. Thinking about them made him sweat, and he had to concentrate on the tangible items surrounding him to pull him back from the memories. He pinched the course, itchy straw, took a slow breath of the crisp air, and concentrated on the goosebumps on his arm. He felt his back rest against the thick log behind him and pulled his mind back to the voices outside.

The door opened, letting in a flood of morning light. "Please, just take a look around," said a familiar voice. "This place has been on these grounds for almost fifty years. It is like a second home to the community."

 _Charlotte?_

"It doesn't matter how much you think that this place matters. The city is drowning with the cost of upkeep for it. Most of these buildings have no business being here. We can't continue with this place when you can only fill the grounds a few weekends a year."

"A few weekends a year?" Charlotte said, exasperated. "We have thousands of school children visiting here in between those weekends. That is no small-"

"Thousands of children that turn no profit. I can't justify that in the books." Eliot didn't like the sound of the man. His voice was wiry and vacant, and he sounded too much like many of the men he had had dealings with over the years. Dealings that had left men sprawled on the ground with their gums bleeding while Eliot walked away with a clear conscience.

A few years ago, that's all it would have been. One or two swift punches to the face, and a stealthy exit. He hadn't been hired for a job at this museum, and it was none of his business. He could slip out easily and not worry about any of it. He considered his options. The back door was latched and fully visible, but if the two were distracted enough, he might be able to slip through the logs behind the straw and out the front door. Or, he could wait it out, which was just fine with him as long as neither of them glanced behind the straw. _None of my business_ , he told himself.

" _Please_ , just give us a chance here."

Eliot rolled his eyes. _I hate you Nate Ford. I shouldn't care about this._

But Nathan Ford gets under your skin.

While Eliot listened, he shivered, and had to place his tongue between his teeth so that they wouldn't start chattering on him. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on keeping still, while pressing his crossed arms closer to his sides and trapping his hands to warm his fingers.

Eliot heard the creek of floorboards. The man in the barn had shifted his weight, alarming Eliot. He focused his hearing to deduce where the man was in relation to Charlotte. He could easily intervene, get the jump on the man who had no idea he was there, if he was needed. He wouldn't mind doing so if the man decided the argument was going to be a physical one. But the man was more civilized than that. Instead, he grabbed an artifact that was leaning against the barrier separating the bed of straw and the middle of the barn, and held it up. "Tell me, do any of these things really matter here? Are the children going to suffer if they learn about this scythe from pictures in a book instead of in this old barn. This place is ready to fall down if you ask me. And maybe, if you push me, I might give the whole thing a bit of a push myself."

 _No one asked you, Asshole_ , Eliot thought. _This place is sturdier than your two feet. Would you like me to show you?_

Eliot heard a rustling of straw at the far end of the barn and looked over. He saw Zoe climbing over the log barrier and into the straw on the other side of his rather large bed. His body froze, trying not to let her catch sight of him at the corner of her eye, and he watched her tiny body do a somersault into the pit. She giggled and sat up, unaware of the argument her mother was having.

She spotted Eliot across the barn and gasped. She opened her mouth to say something, but Eliot shook his head. Her Mom, Charlotte, was so busy with the guy in the suit that she hadn't noticed her daughter's reaction to the hitter. He saw Zoe look to her mother, then back to Eliot. He shook his head again, put a finger to his lips and gave her a wink.

Zoe decided to keep her mouth closed. Either she trusted Eliot, or she didn't trust the man that was talking with her mother. Eliot was betting on the latter.

"This is a museum. We aren't here to make money. We are here because we have a responsibility to the community. To preserve its history."

The man laughed. "How cute. We need to move forwards, not backwards," he said. "You can finish up the last few days of your event. Once this season is over, don't expect to open your doors again."

"You can't just shut us down. There are people who have been coming here for decades. People who came here as kids that are now bringing their grandchildren. The community is not going to stand for it closing down. And you can't just get rid of all of this," she said, gesturing around. "We have seventeen buildings here that we are meant to take care of."

Again, the man laughed, this one mocking. "The community is not going to have a say in what the municipality decides. If we tell them we are going to shut down temporarily, store a few items in a handful of trailers, promise to reopen, they won't bat an eye. The noise will fade after a few months."

"You can't-"

"It's already done. And don't you even think about trying to stop me, or-." Eliot felt the long pause. Two pairs of feet shifted behind the straw, and he watched as Zoe stopped and locked eyes with one of the two people having the argument. Whether it was her mother's or the man's, he wasn't sure, but Eliot curled his fingers into a fist, not liking the tone that the man had taken.

Before he could react, he heard a single set of footsteps leaving the barn. Then he waited. He wanted to stay out of sight, at least for now.

But that wasn't going to happen.

"Mom, I found Eliot."

Eliot closed his eyes and let his head fall to his chest, shaking his head.

"What?" The woman said. Her voice was shaking, but now had confusion mixed into her voice. Her mind was still on the argument over the museum, and the man who had all but threatened her. "Eliot?" her Mom asked, not remembering who her daughter was talking about. She tried to place the name.

"You know, from yesterday."

"Honey, the museum is not even open yet. And I doubt he'll be back, I think he had his fill yesterday."

"But he never left." Zoe was pointing now, behind the straw and giving Eliot away.

Eliot sighed and rolled his eyes. He straightened out his legs and leaned his head forward until he was peaking out from behind the pile. Charlotte gasped. She reached over the barrier and grabbed her daughter. She placed the girl behind her back, standing between Eliot and Zoe.

Eliot held up his hands and shifted onto his knees. "I ain't gonna hurt ya," he said. Then he met Zoe's eye as she poked her head out from behind her mother's legs. "I thought you were going to keep this our secret," he said.

"What are you _doing_ here?" the woman asked. "Have you been here all night?" She noted a few stray pieces of straw sticking to his clothes. "Did you sleep in the barn?" Then she looked at the barn door, watching the man that had just left. "You're working with him? What are you planning on doing?" Her eyes widened and she grabbed hold of Zoe. Eliot hated that he had caused the fear he saw in her eyes now. He had just made the situation even worse.

Eliot climbed back over the barrier. "I'm sorry. I didn' mean to scare ya," he said. "I crashed for the night, yes, but I have nothing to do with him."

"Then what were you doing yesterday? You were hanging around an awful lot. And you were by the creek, she said, pointing at him in alarm and realization. "You told Zoe you were down by the water, just like-"

"Just like what?"

Charlotte clamped her mouth shut and glanced back outside, not wanting to say any more with the man still hanging around.

"I have nothing to do with him," Eliot tried to assure her.

"Well, forgive me if I don't believe a word you are saying. He just threatened to make sure this barn wasn't left standing and now I find you here hiding out. You need to go," the woman said, pointing a finger out of the barn, and clinging to her daughter with the other arm.

"Charlotte," Eliot said, trying to soften his tone, "I'm not here to hurt ya or this museum, I promise."

She shook her head, and went to pick up a few tin lanterns that were sitting on a bench, tidying up with a nervous edge to her movements.

"I can help, if you tell me what's going on. This museum, you were saying-"

"Stop." Eliot watched the woman's expression. She narrowed her eyes and bit her lip. She shoved the tin lanterns back into a wooden box. "It doesn't matter. Just go," she said.

Eliot stood his ground. "Ya know, I was walking around here yesterday, and you're right. People like this place. They love it. It makes them happy. The families I saw walking around, laughing, away from all the city noise. You're really going to let him put an end to this?"

The woman gave a sarcastic snarl, mixed with a defeated laugh. "I am not _letting_ him do anything. Or didn't you hear the whole conversation we just had?"

Eliot leaned against the log barrier and pressed his lips together, taking a moment. "I heard. And you're right. This place should stay open."

"And yet," she said, swinging her arm out the door and towards the man who had left, "I don't really have much of a choice in the matter."

"It's not so easy for one man to shut down a museum. It's preserving the town's history. You must be able to argue it."

"Sure, I can argue all I want. In the meantime, he'll shut the place temporarily, and get rid of three quarters of the buildings and most of the artifacts. Anything that he doesn't believe needs to be here. Come on Zoe," she said, taking her daughter's hand.

"The buildings and artifacts, what are his plans for them?" Eliot asked, stepping out of the barn.

She pulled one side of the barn door closed while Eliot went and unlatched the other. "He'll sell them off. I know this isn't exactly The Louvre, but there are still collector's who will pay a good bit for something authentic. Especially the buildings." She pulled the doors together and latched them with the padlock.

"You mentioned the creek earlier. What was that about? Who else was wandering around down there?"

They were walking through the village now. Costumed interpreters were starting to carry trays of goodies to the buildings. Eliot could smell the wood fires, already smoking out of the chimneys.

Charlotte stopped and looked around to make sure no one else could hear. "A few weeks ago, a handful of men came up, said they were from City Hall and were here to fix the septic system. But they barely went near it the whole time they were here."

"They were wandering by the creek," he said. "This land must be worth millions, you think they're planning on selling?"

She nodded. "That would be my guess. But I have no way of getting proof. That man you heard earlier, Montgomery, he just started with the city. A few months ago, he and his other guys started poking around, asking questions, looking closely at the money. This isn't a business that is meant to make millions. We're a community museum. No, we don't make much, but the city has always been committed to having us here. Until now. If he can convince even a handful of people that we are better off without this place, we don't stand a chance."

Eliot looked around at the buildings, and the forest surrounding them all. He had felt the calmness as soon as he had stepped out of the taxi that had brought him here. And he had seen it too, in Zoe's face, in the faces of everyone dressed in costume and bustling around. Charlotte was right. The community needed this place to come to, somewhere away from the harsh fluorescent lights and fumes from gas stations and fried foods.

"What if there was a way that I could help? I mean, truly help you with what is going on."

Charlotte let out a sarcastic laugh that was way too startled at the thought. She put a hand up to cover her mouth. "Sorry," she said.

"Why is that funny?"

"Listen, Eliot, no offence, but you just spent the night in a museum barn, I doubt you can help me."

Eliot pushed his hair out of his face. He knew that he was covered in bits of dirt and straw, his clothes were ragged and wrinkled, and he was barely dressed warm enough for the cold snap that had rushed in. He couldn't blame her for thinking that there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

"Look, just give me a chance. My friends and I, we help people, people who have no where else to turn."

"If you have such decent friends, what were you doing hanging out in a barn all night?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at him.

Eliot forced a smile. "Just..." he paused, thinking back to the night he left. "Just had t' get away for awhile," he said. He had no intention of telling her the reasons that he wanted to disappear.

Charlotte gave him a skeptical look. "Listen, Eliot, I appreciate it. I doubt there is anything you can do."

"You'd be surprised what my friends and I can do."

Charlotte smirked, unconvinced. Then she gestured behind her to one of the buildings. "Listen, this building has heat, and hot coffee if you're interested, and a shower on the second floor if you want. I've got to get to work. Thank you for the offer," she said, putting a hand on Eliot's shoulder. She took Zoe's hand and headed away. Eliot watched them go, knowing that Charlotte had no reason to think that he could actually help, but he was determined to convince her otherwise.

Eliot took her up on the warm shower before going on a hunt for a hot cup of coffee. Once he had it in hand, he stepped onto the porch and took a deep breath. He took out his phone. He twisted it around in his hand a few times, considering. He looked to the forest. A day ago, all he wanted was to disappear between the trees and lose contact with everyone, for just a few days. He nearly put his phone back in his pocket, because a part of him still wanted to go. He wanted to forget all of these buildings and the people and follow the creek to no where in particular. But that wasn't an option anymore. Not for _this_ Eliot Spencer.

For the first time since he had left Boston, he turned his phone on, and before he changed his mind, he typed a message to the team. _I found a job for us._

He wasn't sure how the others were going to react. He hadn't been gone long, but he had left abruptly. Yes, they had finished a job, but as the man who protected the team, he didn't have the right to abandon everyone. He took a deep breath of fresh air, trusting that his team would consider the people that needed help, rather than his abrupt departure.

Eliot glanced up and looked around. Families were going in and out of buildings, laughing. A woman in a long green, flowery dress, was taking a tray down to the fire pit. Eliot's gaze glanced along down the path and down towards the gate he had entered the day before. Visitors were coming in, and the horses had already started making their rounds.

And then he saw, just outside the gate, Parker and Hardison were standing with their arms crossed.

A message came through on his phone. _Already here._


End file.
